


the truth may vary (don't listen to a word I say)

by TolkienGirl



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode: s12e06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox, F/M, Gen, No Slash, Post-Episode: s12e06 Celebrating the Life of Asa Fox, The Winchester Family, in which the Winchesters go out for breakfast and Mary suffers just a little, some angst some fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:59:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8712961
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TolkienGirl/pseuds/TolkienGirl
Summary: John’s journal said a lot of things, but when she looks at the men who are supposed to be her boys, she thinks it didn’t say much at all.





	

“I’ll ride in the back,” she says. Dean’s driving, and it doesn’t seem fair to make Sam have to fold up any smaller than he has to, anyway.

It’s quiet in the car. Mary runs her hands over the long-familiar leather, worn smooth by time. Everything is different than she remembers, in ways both big and small…it makes her wonder if anything even belongs to her anymore.

But in a way, in the Campbell-Winchester tradition of stubbornness, she decided just moments ago that _she_ belongs _here_.

The reaper’s eyes were bright and old. Distrustful, but not as humans distrust each other. More like something that’s seen the world spin from near and far and has decided that humanity’s off its axis. Mary feels a little cold knot twist in her stomach, and swallows hard.

“Mom,” Sam says, in the rearview mirror, “You OK?”

“I’m fine,” she says, and she can smile because she loves them.

Dean says nothing.

It’s so strange, to see Dean being quiet. He was a chatty little boy, always bubbling over with something new to tell her. Strange to think that that would ever go away. But John’s journal said he stopped speaking for weeks, after.

John’s journal said a lot of things, but when she looks at the men who are supposed to be her boys, she thinks it didn’t say much at all.

“Diner’s in a mile,” Dean says at last. His shoulders are set. Sam is watching him. They talk without words, she sees. If anything, if there’s anything good she can find in this new world that’s most likely darker than she already knows—it’s that her boys are matched in life and stride.

She just wishes she knew them.

She just wishes she could be ready.

First week she was gone, she went back to Lawrence. Wondered around. Knocked on the door of the psychic John mentioned in his notes, and fled when she heard a hand on the doorknob.

She hunted down her history like she was trained to hunt down monsters—teeth set, reaching in the dark.

Dean swings into the diner parking lot. The car sounds the same as it ever has. Dean’s taken good care of it. She can tell the things Dean loves by how he looks after them.

Her gaze falls back to Sam.

There’s a faint breeze when they get out. A Canadian autumn, and it’s too pretty to be the day after people have been killed. But Mary knows better than to believe promises made by sunshine.

Sam smiles encouragingly as they walk in. Dean’s a little stiff, but he’s trying, she thinks. She thinks that because they’re alike, her and Dean, and she’d like to think she can read him.

Sam slides into the vinyl booth first. To her surprise, Dean tucks in next to him instead of sitting across. Shoulder-to-shoulder, they’re almost too big to fit in the seat. But there’s something protective about Dean’s posture. Protecting Sam, and Mary looks at Sam and doesn’t think he needs it.

If only she knew them, maybe she’d understand.

Dean warms up again over breakfast. He loves to eat, and when he smiles, Mary recognizes him, if only for a moment.

“Your grandma used to make me bacon on Saturday mornings,” she thinks. It still hurts to think about Samuel and Deanna, because, after all, their deaths feel still too near for her—but she thinks that this is safe ground. Giving them something to hold onto.

“Deanna.” Sam pauses, halfway through a mouthful of pancakes. “Mom, did you think he was going to be a _girl_ , and just, decide to stick with it at the last minute?” His eyes twinkle, and Dean elbows him.

“No. I knew you were both boys. I just…knew.” _Dean and Sam,_ John had promised. _We won’t let your parents be forgotten._

Mary wasn’t supposed to end up dead, too.

Sam’s eyes are soft. A little silence spreads out between them, over this diner table. And Mary wishes she could take them home, and maybe she’d learn how to cook, be a good mother in a flour-spotted apron, and when she turned around they’d be small again, with wide open hearts and faces.

“The car you took holding up OK?” Dean asks. He looks startlingly like John when he creases his brows with a look of gruff concern. Her throat clenches a little, but she nods. The moment isn’t allowed to be a moment. It can’t be.

They’re not ready yet.

“It’s running fine. I—I appreciate it. And the phone.”

“Hey,” says Sam, reaching into his pocket. “I should text you Jody’s number. She’s a champ, Mom. You might want to catch up with her sometime.” His eyes are green and golden-brown. He loves her, but it hurts him less, she thinks, than it does Dean.

She wishes it didn’t have to hurt any of them, but she came back too late for that.

They finish breakfast. She makes Dean laugh, once, and she tells herself it’s a beginning.

If only they didn’t need beginnings.

Mary hugs her sons goodbye before they part. Dean’s more willing this time, if not more open. When she drives away from Asa’s place, they’re leaning against the car she loved, too, arms over their chests.

Men who never really got to be her boys. Sam says something to Dean, and Dean nods, answers. They’re not quite happy, but they have each other. Shoulder-to-shoulder, against all the world.

If only she knew them, maybe she’d understand.


End file.
